


Too Late

by Valinde (Valyria)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, Community: spnkink_meme, Depression, F/M, Heartbreak, M/M, Pegging, Prompt Fic, Prostitution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-06
Updated: 2014-03-06
Packaged: 2018-01-14 12:56:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1267381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Valyria/pseuds/Valinde
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set during season 7. Dean tries to deal with loosing Castiel - he hires a hooker to peg him so he can pretend he's with him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Too Late

**Author's Note:**

> prompt fill from the spnkinkmeme on LJ: Sometime mid-season 7 (so after Cas "dies" but before they find him alive again), just missing Cas desperately so he hires a female hooker to peg him while she wears Cas' trenchcoat (not D/s type pegging, so no humiliation or anything like that). I'll leave it up to you to decide if Cas and Dean were actually fucking before, but Dean cannot bring himself to be with another guy. Want very sad Dean who asks that the girl not talk very much, definitely need some Dean tears, especially after its over and the girl has left and Dean is in bed clutching the coat feeling miserable and lost.

It’s hard.

Silicone over plastic slippery with cheap lube.

There’s no give when it pushes into him, and the harness of the thing brushes up against his ass and thighs when she bottoms out, the touch of straps and buckles a million miles from the soft warm skin, _(Cas)_ , he wants.  
  
It doesn’t feel right, none of it does, but with his eyes squeezed shut and his face buried in the folds of Cas’s trenchcoat, Dean can almost pretend. Does pretend.  
  
The coat is filthy.  
  
There’s a brackish pond-scum stink steeped in it, almost overpowering the traces of Castiel, but they’re still there - lingering notes of the aftershave Jimmy Novak put on one morning years ago, before an angel took his body, (It’s Hugo Boss. Dean knows because he spent an afternoon sniffing testers in a department store instead of interviewing witnesses until he found it. Then he’d stood there with a frosted glass bottle in his hand and wondered if it had been a gift from Amelia. The thought made him guilty and sad and angry all at the same time, so he’d put it down and left.), fabric softener, blood, salt and there, that.

Underneath it. Under those earthly human smells... Something Dean can almost taste in the back of his throat. Something static and holy and almost stinging. Angelic. Divine. Castiel.

He focuses on that, the illusion that Cas is still here, that those slender hands on his hips belong to him, that the burning stretch in his ass is his dick pressing warm and deep inside. He pants into the rough fabric, dismissing the taint of Leviathan and trying to get more of that comforting Cas-scent into his lungs. It’s distracting though and impossible to ignore - the Leviathan's stench. It makes him remember things he doesn’t want to, so he weaves it into the fantasy in his head.  
  
Dean is standing on the shore of the reservoir, water lapping at the toes of his boots. He's staring across the dark water, searching, searching - and there. A ripple. A splash. A head breaking through the water and gasping a deep breath. Dean stands and waits as the figure moves towards him, towards the shore, and then Castiel walks out of the water, bedraggled and beaten, but alive. He stops in front of Dean, water-logged and miserable, face crinkled in guilt and shame.

"Dean." he says.  
  
The Leviathans are loose and Dean’s angry but that can wait, for now he’s just relieved. He pulls Cas into a hug, uncaring that he’s wet and dirty. He kisses him, and he tastes like lake water, sweat and monster, but there’s something buzzing underneath, some untarnished reminder of grace and goodness despite all Castiel has done.  
  
Dean kisses him hard, because he’s wanted to for years and he’s through holding back. Cas touches him, hesitantly at first, a hand at his shoulder, tentative fingers at his hip. Dean grabs the back of Cas’s head, his hair wet and dripping, and presses close, rubs up against him like he means it. Cas falters for a second, says his name –  _Dean_  - low and breathless against Dean’s lips, and then he breaks over Dean like a wave.  
  
Hands gripping and pulling, angel-strong - sure and righteous - pushing Dean and taking taking. There’s no brick wall to shove Dean against here so it’s the ground instead. Dean spreads his legs and makes a space for Cas between, rolling his hips and moaning as Cas bears down to grind against him. They kiss and bite and Dean yanks at Cas’s sodden clothes, desperate to get to clean skin, to get closer to him, as close as possible. The reek of leviathan hangs around them but Dean ignores it.

Cas bites at his neck, the cord of muscle there, and flaring sting of it and the rasp of stubble has Dean gasping and rocking, his shorts rubbing slick against his dick where he’s hard and leaking in his jeans. Cas shoves a hand between them and makes short work of Dean’s belt and fly, yanking at the denim and cotton there until Dean lifts his hips so he can pull them down his thighs. Damp cloth rubs and brushes against Dean’s dick as Cas shifts, making him shiver and twitch, but Cas doesn’t touch him, instead he flips Dean over and gets his ass in the air. Dean scrambles unsteadily at the uneven ground, his jeans hobbling him where they're caught around his knees, and braces himself on arms and elbows.  
  
Cas's fingers are slick when he touches Dean’s hole –  _spit_  he thinks – but that’s his only concession to Dean’s comfort. He presses fingers in deep and firm, one after the other, working them in and out insistently, stretching Dean in a too-quick burn. Dean doesn’t care though, if anything it's not fast enough and he rocks back and moans, tilts his hips, works himself open rough and dirty. “Need you.” he says, low and desperate. “Please...” And then Cas is inside him, a deep, aching stretch and Dean sobs with relief at the sweet agony of it.

Cas rocks into him, pressing himself deep into Dean’s body and making a home for himself there. It hurts but it’s good, so good, and Dean’s so glad, so happy, that it’s bubbling up inside him and he can’t keep it all in.  _“Cas.”_  he says, choked and ugly sounding, but all kinds of imploring.

  
  
“You good sugar?” she asks, her Midwestern twang hoarse from chain smoking.  
  
Dean tenses as Cas dissolves around him like the ridiculous fantasy it is and he’s left in a cheap by-the-hour motel room, ass-up on a stripped mattress with 8 inches of plastic dildo shoved up his ass. He opens his eyes and the glass ashtray and the ugly lamp on the bedside table swim into focus. There's a tube of lube there too. 3 empties and a few scattered condoms. Dean blinks. The prostitute’s hand ( _too-small, too-soft_ ), squeezes his hip in gentle concern. “Sugar?”  
  
Tears burn Dean’s eyes but he’s facing away from her so it doesn’t matter. He nods and swallows, manages to keep his voice fairly even as he replies; “Yeah. Yeah I’m good. Keep going.”  
  
He'd told her to keep quiet so all she says is “You got it baby.” before she gets back to it, rocking away from him so the thick dildo she’s fucking him with is drawn out of his ass in a slow aching drag. It doesn’t feel right - hard and plastic.  
  
Dean closes his eyes and buries his face in the rough fabric of Castiel’s jacket.  
  
The coat is filthy.  
  
There’s a brackish pond-scum stink steeped in it, almost overpowering the traces of Castiel, but they’re still there and Dean focuses on them, sucks in deep breaths _(sobs)_ and pretends the hands on his hips and the thing the whore’s fucking him with are Castiel.  
  
Dean hates the trenchcoat. It’s tattered and stained (and wet now with spit and tears), and it’s all he has left. He sucks ragged breaths through the weave of it, tasting dirt, monster, jimmy novak's aftershave and angel.  
  
“Cas.” he says, just mouthing the word so she won’t hear. Choking on it. _“Cas.”_

_*_

It's easier when she's gone, when she's taken a stack of bills and Dean's locked the door behind her.

He's sore and stretched where she fucked him and when Dean curls up in the bed and pulls the trenchcoat closer, there's nothing to break the spell. Perhaps a little of her perfume lingers, but that's easy to dismiss amidst the other stale odors of the room.

With his face buried in the coat, Cas is with him. Dean can still feel him inside, smell him on the sheets. He's curled up on the mattress just behind, almost touching. Or maybe he's off in the bathroom for a minute. Or heaven needed him and he couldn't stay - left Dean with kisses and promises to be back soon, to come if he called.

Dean won't pray to him yet, he can wait a while.

He wraps the filthy coat around himself and dozes, gets closer to peace than he's come in months. Cas will be back. He always comes back.


End file.
